


Hero of the dawn

by cruellae (tinkabelladk)



Series: You and I could end the world in fire or blood [4]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Hopeless Romantics, Loveless - Freeform, M/M, Slightly AU - Aerith shows up earlier than in the game, Turks - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-19 05:00:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18131270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinkabelladk/pseuds/cruellae
Summary: When the war of the beasts brings about the world’s endThe goddess descends from the skyWings of light and dark spread afarShe guides us to bliss, her gift everlasting.Sephiroth brushed his finger over the letters that made up the prologue and wondered what the words meant to Genesis when he spoke them, as he did so often. Genesis pored over Loveless hoping to understand humanity. Sephiroth had been making a quiet, determined study of it, hoping to understand Genesis.Sephiroth/Genesis before it all fell apart.





	Hero of the dawn

**Author's Note:**

> Some liberties have been taken, mostly with the timeline. Some things that happen in the game after Genesis leaves SOLDIER happen earlier here.

“You look flushed,” Hojo said, scowling as he slid the long, shining needle into Sephiroth’s arm.

Sephiroth didn’t look away or flinch as the glass tube started to fill with blood. He was used to it. “I was sparring,” he said. Genesis had almost gotten the better of him. Sephiroth had his left hand—his dominant hand—tied behind his back the whole time, but it had still been entertaining. He enjoyed watching Genesis fight, the dramatic sweep of his Rapier, the bursts of flame that flared bright and hot as Sephiroth dodged them. Genesis laughed while he fought, he recited poetry, and once he even sang. He was sheer exuberance in a way Sephiroth could never be.

“That’s fine then,” Hojo said. His voice was dry and nasally, and Sephiroth had hated the sound ever since he was old enough to despise anything. “I thought maybe you were fucking someone. And I’d really rather you didn’t. Sex stirs up the hormones and could completely throw off these delicate experiments of mine.”

Through a great force of will, Sephiroth kept his face impassive. There was no other choice. This—Hojo, Shinra, SOLDIER—was all he had. It was all he knew. Leaving would be like dying, a step into a great unknown. He wasn’t ready for that.

He sat perfectly still and patient for the rest of Hojo’s exam, letting the IV drip whatever experimental substance Hojo had recently dreamed up into his bloodstream. He tuned out Hojo’s voice and let his mind drift.

On the way back to his quarters, he pondered the question. He did have sex, but it was a rare thing, and always impersonal. He never saw the same person twice. It was better that way—love and intimacy came with complications and would make him vulnerable.

His apartment was bare and utilitarian. A few books on military strategy sat on a small shelf, and the Masamune hung along the length of one wall. It gleamed in the warm yellow light, and Sephiroth ran his fingers over the hilt as he walked by.

Those were really the only personal touches, except for the copy of Loveless that was sitting on his nightstand. He sat cross-legged on the bed and picked it up, turning it over in his hands. It had been a gift, but that was hardly remarkable. Angeal and even that Second, Zack, also had copies that Genesis had given them. But Sephiroth doubted Angeal or his protege had even opened theirs. Sephiroth, on the other hand, had been studying it intently, underlining relevant passages as though they were clues to a puzzle.

_When the war of the beasts brings about the world_ _’s end_

_The goddess descends from the sky_

_Wings of light and dark spread afar_

_She guides us to bliss, her gift everlasting._

Sephiroth brushed his finger over the letters that made up the prologue and wondered what the words meant to Genesis when he spoke them, as he did so often. Genesis pored over Loveless hoping to understand humanity. Sephiroth had been making a quiet, determined study of it, hoping to understand Genesis.

The air vent above his head creaked, but he didn’t look up. “Hello, Reno,” he said. “Did you need something or are you just checking to see where I am?”

“If you’d just wear a tracker,” came a strained voice above him, “I wouldn’t have to sneak around in these vents. It’s really hot and kind of filthy up here.”

Sephiroth rolled his eyes. He had little sympathy for any Turk, and even less for Reno himself.

“Whatcha readin?” Reno asked.

“Loveless,” Sephiroth replied, if only so that the Turk would not deem it necessary to break in and actually check. Between Hojo’s paranoia about anything untoward befalling his favorite experiment and President Shinra’s obsessive need to control his most valuable asset, Sephiroth had grown used to constant surveillance.

“You know, I had to read that in a class once. Boring as fuck.”

Sephiroth glanced up at the vent. “Don’t let Genesis hear you say that.”

“I heard he almost kicked your ass today.”

Sephiroth smiled. Remembering the bout made him feel good, and not just because he had won. “I had my left hand tied behind my back.”

 “Still.” Reno sounded admiring. “I gotta squeeze myself into his air vents next. I’ll tell him hi for ya.”

“Not necessary,” Sephiroth said, but the only response he got was muffled banging and cursing as Reno continued through the vent, which led across the hall, to the right, and ended directly above Genesis’s living room. They weren’t really air vents—there were other vents that actually controlled circulation. These were decoy vents, built into the section of Shinra Tower where the most valuable people would be stored until they were needed so that the Turks would always have an easy in and out.

Sephiroth resumed his reading until his phone buzzed with a text from Genesis.

_Reno says you_ _’re actually reading it._

One corner of Sephiroth’s mouth curled up into the slightest of smiles as the phone lit up again with a second message.

_What do you think? No, wait. I_ _’ll come over._

It was a half hour before Genesis actually knocked on Sephiroth’s door, then punched in the keycode and opened it without waiting for Sephiroth to answer—a habit that defeated the entire point of knocking. He had a basket of Banora apples in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other, and he was grinning.

“She guides us to bliss, her gift everlasting,” he said.

“Indeed,” Sephiroth replied dryly. “You brought apples and wine?”

“Gifts of the goddess.”

Sephiroth wondered just how much trouble Genesis had avoided in his life simply by flashing that smile and letting his hair fall into his eyes. Although he was an expert liar in most things, Genesis never faked joy or enthusiasm. His exuberance was irresistible, and Sephiroth smiled back, just slightly.

“Now,” Genesis swept his arm dramatically, “tell me all your favorite parts.”

While they discussed the merits of Loveless as a stand-alone epic poem—a conversation in which Genesis had done most of the talking, with Sephiroth content to listen—they finished off the bottle of wine and Sephiroth sliced the apples into neat slivers with his combat knife because his kitchen was sorely lacking in utensils.

“That’s really just scratching the surface of the many, many interpretations,” Genesis was saying. “And that’s just the poem. The play is in itself an interpretation as well.”

“I’ve never seen the play,” Sephiroth admitted. His schedule left little time for frivolities, and he had no patience for them anyway.

Genesis looked shocked. “Never? Not even in language class?”

“I didn’t go to school,” Sephiroth said. “Hojo found tutors for me. He didn’t want me to waste my time with things like this.” _Or make too many friends._

“What a bastard,” Genesis said dismissively, as though the only thing that mattered about Hojo was the way he treated his favorite experiment. “I hope he falls into a vat of toxic mako.”

Sephiroth couldn’t help but agree.

“I have a couple of performances recorded,” Genesis said. “Wait. I’ll be right back.” He was up and out the door before Sephiroth could protest, and when he returned, his stream of commentary didn’t stop until the curtain rose on the TV screen.

Even Sephiroth had to admit, the story of Loveless was compelling and timeless. He was almost lost in it when he felt a gentle tug on his hair. Genesis was running his fingers through the silky strands, studying them in the light.

Usually Sephiroth hated it when people touched his hair. Their curious stares made him feel like an animal in a zoo. But this felt different. Strange, but not unpleasant.

“Can I braid your hair?” Genesis asked.

Sephiroth glanced at him, eyebrow raised.

“I happen to be excellent at braiding hair. It’s one of my many secret talents.” He gave Sephiroth an endearing smile—calculated, but no less charming for it. Genesis could be a force of nature when he wanted to.

Sephiroth turned his attention back to the play. “You have to brush it first.”

He could sense Genesis’ radiant grin as he got up to retrieve a hairbrush.

After that, it was impossible to pay any attention to the production of Loveless. Genesis started by gently carding his fingers through the long cascade of hair, teasing out tangles, before picking up the brush.

“When was the last time you cut this?” Genesis asked.

It had been quite some time. Aside from the occasional trim to cut off split ends… “I was thirteen. One of Heidegger’s machines defeated me in a training bout.”

The comb gently tugging on his hair stopped mid-pull. “Do you mean to say you’ve been undefeated since you were thirteen?”

“Yes.”

“Goddess above,” Genesis swore.

“It was a test,” Sephiroth said. He could still feel the shame from that day, from the moment he’d had to yield to the hulking mechanical beast. “One I failed. They were going to send me to Wutai just as the war broke out, but because of that incident, Hojo made them wait another year.”

Genesis’s fingers brushed lightly against Sephiroth’s neck as he gathered Sephiroth’s hair into a single bundle. Sephiroth closed his eyes at the touch and hoped that his slight shiver had gone unnoticed.

It was strange to be touched like this, so gently and for no apparent purpose other than to make a connection. Was Genesis like this with Angeal? Did he act like this with his lovers? However he treated them, they never came back for a second tryst, but it seemed he had a new one every few weeks.

“Ripples form on the water’s surface,” Genesis said thoughtfully.

Sephiroth replied impulsively. “The wandering soul knows no rest.”

“There is no hate, only joy / For you are beloved by the goddess / Hero of the dawn.”

“That’s my favorite line,” Sephiroth murmured. “Hero of the dawn.” It made him think of a sky cast in orange and crimson, as violently beautiful as Genesis himself.

_Oh._

He felt foolish for not realizing it sooner, not noticing the depth and power of the wanting that tugged deep in his chest. It was a strange, vaguely shameful sensation. He’d spent his life trying to want as little as possible, as desires like this were a weakness that made you deeply vulnerable.

Suddenly, the sensation of Genesis’s fingers in his hair was overwhelming, and he didn’t know if he could stand another moment of it. He pulled away, bowing his head so the cascade of hair hid his face. “I…have to meet someone,” he said. It was clumsy and probably not all convincing, but he was too scattered to come up with a better lie.

Genesis pouted so beautifully that Sephiroth almost relented then and there. “Fine,” he said, throwing his hands up. “I have better things to do too.”

When the door closed behind him, Sephiroth was both relieved and deeply disappointed. His body was still thrumming with the aftereffect of the physical connection. But maybe it had been just that, just physical. Maybe he needed to get laid, and this strange, unwelcome desire would go away.

He resolved to do so as soon as he got some leave.

#

“This is a slum,” Genesis said, stepping daintily over a puddle of stagnant water. He had only been beneath the plate a few times and had always been put off by how bleak things seemed here.

“He was right here,” Cissnei said, standing in front of a restaurant that had clearly seen better days, a flickering neon sign announcing its offerings. “And then…I don’t know.” She sounded flustered, not surprising given the situation. She had come to Genesis’s quarters in Shinra Tower, worried and out of breath, and asked for his help in locating Sephiroth. Apparently, he left the tower of his own accord so infrequently that the Turks deemed it necessary to follow him on such occasions. And somehow Cissnei had lost him. 

Genesis looked around, then back at her. “Be a good little Turk and run home now. I’m going to look for him and if I catch anyone in a black suit following me, I’m going to set them on fire.”

“But—”

“Sephiroth deserves a little privacy, don’t you think?” Genesis lifted his hand and let flames dance on his palm. Cissnei squeaked, taking a step back. “Go,” Genesis said. He watched her stride off into the distance, then turned back to the Wall Market.

He wandered aimlessly for a few minutes, getting a sense of the lay of the place, before he started to approach the locals.

“I’m looking for a tall guy with a big sword,” he said to the man slouching against the side of the item store.

The man gave him a knowing look and a drawn-out wink. “I hear ya. Try the Honeybee Inn. They’ve got all kinds.”

Genesis laughed. “No, I mean it literally.” As much as a night of debauchery appealed, he was on a mission. “He’s very tall, with long silver hair, and he carries a giant sword around.”

“Well, I don’t know about the sword.” The local scratched his head idly. “But there was a tall guy with a long ponytail went into the bar over there.”

Genesis thanked the man, pressed a few gil into his hand, and went on his way. Inside it was crowded and dark, the kind of bar that’s more about alcohol than social interaction. Sephiroth was easy to spot—not because of his hair, which was pulled back in a tame ponytail, or his sword, which was oddly absent, but because he stood as straight as a steel beam, his stance striking even in civilian clothes. He was near the back wall, a drink in his hand, standing very close to a man with reddish brown hair falling into his eyes and a sly smile.

He looked different in civilian clothes, with his hair tied back. He looked almost like a normal person. Handsome, but unremarkable. Just a soldier on leave, out to have a few drinks and maybe get laid, if his companion’s body language was anything to go by.

Genesis hated it. Why should Sephiroth have to tone down his otherworldly beauty and hide his strength so that these plebeians might accept him as one of their own? He was easily worth a thousand of them. He was a beautiful, terrifying, ruthless _monster,_ and to pretend otherwise was just ridiculous.

Sephiroth put a hand on his companion’s waist, drawing him closer, and Genesis crossed the crowded floor in mere seconds, the bar patrons darting out of his way. He barely noticed them.

He grabbed the stranger by the back of his shirt and lifted him one-handed off the ground. “Get lost,” he said disdainfully, and dropped his captive to the floor.

“What are you doing?” Sephiroth asked, in a tone that most would consider even and reasonable—but Genesis knew him well enough to know he was pissed.

“What are _you_ doing?” Genesis asked, grabbing Sephiroth’s wrist with the intention of dragging him out of the bar. But Sephiroth twisted in his grip, grabbed him by the arm, spun him and pinned him against the wall with a hand on his throat.

Genesis grinned. He’d have bruises on his neck to explain to Angeal tomorrow at training, but oh, it was worth it to see Sephiroth with color in his cheeks and fire in his eyes, glaring fiercely at him.

“This isn’t funny,” Sephiroth said.

“It’s not a joke.” Genesis met Sephiroth’s gaze.

Sephiroth let him go and stormed out of the bar, and Genesis followed. He crossed the trodden path through the center of Wall Market went into the inn, never looking behind him to see if Genesis was still there. He walked upstairs and unlocked the door to one of the rooms, where the Masamune lay gleaming darkly against the white sheets of the bed.

“You left your sword here?” Genesis asked, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him.

Sephiroth turned to him. “Why are you here?”

“Why are you dressed like this?” Genesis tugged at the fabric of Sephiroth’s T-shirt, which had the logo for a local shop on it. “You look so…ordinary.”

“I am off duty. I may dress however I like.”

“And your hair? You never tie it back.”

“I’m blending in with the locals. Not all of us love the spotlight, Genesis.” Sephiroth turned to the bed, picking up the Masamune and slicing through the empty air in front of him. “Why do you care?”

It was a valid question, and Genesis didn’t have a good answer. “I don’t,” he lied.

Sephiroth set his sword on the dresser and stared pensively at it. “Will you braid my hair?” he finally asked, his back still turned. He bowed his head, oddly shy. 

The request caught Genesis off guard. Sephiroth had been so cagey and tense the last time Genesis tried to touch his hair. But it wasn’t an unpleasant task by any means. “Of course,” he said.

Sephiroth sat on the edge of the bed, and Genesis knelt behind him, thrilled that Sephiroth had decided to sit directly opposite the full-length mirror. With a great deal of satisfaction, he pulled Sephiroth’s glorious hair free of the ponytail and let it fall down his back. He took a moment to admire his handiwork in the mirror, then ran his fingers through it, gently tugging at the few tangles he found. It was nice just to be able to touch him—usually Sephiroth was so guarded and wary that you couldn’t even brush against him accidentally in the hallway.

Sephiroth leaned his head back, and made a soft, almost imperceptible sigh when Genesis gently scratched his scalp. His eyes were closed, and his entire body was tense.

Genesis leaned close, to whisper in Sephiroth’s ear. “You are magnificent. You are vicious and ruthless and impossible to kill. You are beautiful like nothing else in this world, and you should never hide what you are.”

Sephiroth kept his eyes closed, but he leaned just slightly, against Genesis. _“For you are beloved by the goddess / Hero of the dawn, Healer of worlds.”_

Sephiroth, melting into his embrace and quoting Loveless while he did so—this was better than a dream. And it made Genesis say ridiculous things that he could never take back.

“Not you,” he whispered, his lips brushing Sephiroth’s ear. “You’re nothing like a hero. You look best when you have the blood of your enemies dripping from your sword. Why should you pretend to be what they want, when I love you just as you are?”

#

_“Who is that?” Sephiroth asked Hojo, peering at a photo of a woman in a white lab coat, pinned to Hojo’s bulletin board along with pages of scribbled equations and chemical symbols._

_“Lucretia,” Hojo said. He was carefully mixing a dose of mako, half his concentration on getting the volatile potion exactly right, while keeping an eye on Sephiroth, who was perched precariously on the edge of the counter, his short legs dangling over the ground. “She was a scientist. She helped me make you, in fact.”_

_“What happened to her?” Sephiroth asked, staring at the photo, fascinated by her delicate features._

_“She’s gone.” Hojo turned around, a syringe full of glowing mako in his hand. The needle was large and sharp, gleaming in the light, but Sephiroth was used to such things._

_“How did she die?” Sephiroth asked._

_“She’s not dead,” Hojo said. “She’s suffering a fate worse than death.”_

_“What’s that?”_

_Hojo regarded him carefully._ _“She loved you,” he finally said. “She helped me create you, and she loved you. She saw what you would become, and her love for you made her want to die. She tried to kill herself. It didn’t work, so she imprisoned herself in a crystal, to suffer for the next hundred years alone in a dark, empty cave.”_

_Sephiroth blinked at him. It was an overwhelming amount of information to take in all at once._ _“W—why?” he finally said, stuttering on the single word._

_“Because she wasn’t a very good scientist,” Hojo said crossly. “Love makes you stupid. Love makes you weak. That is why I have surgically altered your heart.” He tapped Sephiroth on the chest. “It still pumps blood, but you’re never going to love anyone. That’s what makes you strong.”_

_Five-year-old Sephiroth pressed his hand to his chest where Hojo had touched him, wondering if that could be true. He felt a coldness deep within himself and thought that maybe it was._

#

Sephiroth leaned against the far wall, arms crossed. He felt as tense as a pulled bowstring, Genesis’s words echoing in his ears. The little inn room seemed too small for the two of them to both occupy it, and part of him wanted to flee into the Midgar twilight.  

But Genesis was still sitting on the edge of the bed, his full lips turned down in a pout that seemed an expression of genuine unhappiness. In his red coat, his hair shining in the cool, bright light, he drew the eye like a gemstone, something new and sparkling in the austere and unadorned inn room.

“Is it that terrible to hear that I care for you?” Genesis said, and there was a bitter edge to his voice that hadn’t been there before, when he’d spoke of love.

“I don’t understand you.” Sephiroth spoke curtly to hide the overwhelming crash of emotions—fear and longing both—that Genesis had unleashed. “I don’t understand what you were saying.”

“You don’t understand it, or you’re too scared to tell me you don’t want to hear it?” Genesis asked, giving Sephiroth a challenging glance.

“It didn’t make any sense,” Sephiroth countered, glaring back. “I don’t know what it was supposed to mean.”

Genesis bowed his head so his hair fell over his eyes, and glanced sideways at Sephiroth. He looked almost shy, for just a moment. “Can I read you a poem?”

“I already know all the lines to Loveless,” Sephiroth said, a little confused. What did poetry have to do with anything?

But Genesis shook his head, pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket. “This isn’t from Loveless.” He smoothed a crease in the center of the page, then started to read.

_“All eyes turn heavenward, yet do not see_

_The black wing against Midgar dusk._

_All hail the General who leads the cavalry to charge_

_Yet know not the blood that drips from the very blade_

_They dare to praise._

_Alone you are the moon against the night._

_The monster stalks the many-floored tower and they dare call him tame._

_You and I could end the world in fire or blood._

_I_ _’ve written my love for you across the forests of Wutai,_

_In every smoldering village._

_In every body we did not stop to bury._ _”_

 

Genesis did not look at him, but carefully folded the piece of paper and put it back in his pocket.

“I didn’t know that you wrote poetry,” Sephiroth said.

Genesis looked oddly sheepish. “It’s kind of a secret. I don’t usually even show it to Angeal.”

“It was beautiful,” Sephiroth said gravely, because it was. “It…I liked it very much. But, Genesis, I could never do something like this for you. I could never love you.”

Genesis looked surprisingly wounded by that, his full lips turning down in a way that made Sephiroth feel like his heart was breaking.

“It’s not you,” Sephiroth said. “It’s that I…lack the capacity for love. I understand that you are proposing a romantic relationship, but if I’m never able to reciprocate your love, it seems doomed to fail.”

Genesis studied him for a moment, then his smile returned, a slow, graceful turn of his lips that captivated Sephiroth. He got up and crossed the room, stepping well into Sephiroth’s personal space where he stood in the kitchen. “You think too much,” he said, and leaned in for a kiss.

Kissing Genesis, even like this, even gentle and slow, was like being set on fire, in the best way possible.

When Genesis pulled away, his eyes were warm and bright. “You don’t have to love me,” he said, pressing his hand to Sephiroth’s chest, directly over his heart. “Just let me love you.”

#

Sephiroth woke with a start to the sound of quiet footsteps in the hallway. He was in an unfamiliar bed, tangled up with a warm body, and it took him a moment to remember the events that led up to the situation.

Genesis. Curled against his side, with one arm flung across Sephiroth’s chest and their legs tangled together.

It felt good to be together like this, even if he knew it was wrong. Even if he knew it was dangerous. He wanted, and his wanting was stronger than his caution and his reserve.

He heard soft voices from just outside the door.

“Think he’s got someone in there?” Even in a whisper, the lazy drawl was clearly Reno’s. The Turks had never figured out just how sensitive Sephiroth’s hearing was.

“We’d better find out,” Tseng replied.

Sephiroth tried to gently extricate himself from Genesis’s embrace, but Genesis woke with a start at the slight movement. The years at war had honed their reflexes to a razor-sharp edge.

“Turks,” Sephiroth mouthed, and despite the lack of light, he knew Genesis saw him clearly. Genesis rolled his eyes, which glowed like mako in the dark room.

Sephiroth made a gesture that on the battlefield meant _stay still and wait for my orders._

Genesis huffed softly, undoubtedly annoyed at being given orders, but sat on the bed and waited while Sephiroth opened the door and stepped outside.

“Sephiroth.” Tseng nodded respectfully. In general, Sephiroth tended to be tolerant of their surveillance, if not happy about it. But tonight was different. Tonight belonged to him. “Just checking up on you.”

“You’d save us a lot of trouble if you just told us who’s in…” Reno trailed off and his mouth dropped open as Genesis stepped out in the hallway, shirtless with his hair mussed. He put an arm around Sephiroth and nipped gently at his neck, a move better suited to the bedroom. Then he grinned at the Turks, wide and lazy like a cat who just got the cream.

Sephiroth tensed. There would be consequences if this was not kept secret, both from Shinra and from Hojo.

“If you put this in your report,” Sephiroth said, “I will personally murder every last Turk. Don’t try me on this, Tseng.”

“Oh,” Genesis said sharply, his bright eyes narrowed. “Is that how it is?” He walked back into the bedroom and slammed the door behind him before Sephiroth could ask for the meaning behind his cryptic comment.

Reno snickered, but Tseng looked deadly serious. “You were with someone tonight,” Tseng said. “A Sector 7 local of no consequence. Your lover has been appropriately threatened and signed a non-disclosure agreement. Is this acceptable?”

Sephiroth nodded. It would still come with consequences, but none that affected Genesis, which made it a reasonable compromise.

When he stepped back into the dark bedroom, Genesis was already in bed. He wasn’t asleep, but maintained a sulky silence for about ten minutes, before rolling over and pressing his lips to Sephiroth’s neck, tugging on the braid he’d finally woven in Sephiroth’s hair with one hand while the other moved down Sephiroth’s body. Sephiroth took this to mean he was forgiven for whatever the slight had been.

#

Most people, Genesis had noticed, did not think of Sephiroth as a human being. They saw a perfect, graceful construct made for battle, a weapon to be wielded against any who would oppose Shinra’s expansion.  They saw a calm like still water, which they mistook for emptiness, an absence of purpose and will. They feared him—his cold, indifferent demeanor, his inhuman strength, his willingness to kill.

Genesis may have indulged in some degree of hero-worship before he met Sephiroth, but that had quickly fallen away. And he had never been afraid of Sephiroth, not even when the General had stalked silently out of the Wutai forest, blood dripping from the Masamune’s sinister edge and matted dark in his silver hair.

The truth was, Genesis was simply too arrogant to put Sephiroth—or anyone—on a pedestal. It was true that Sephiroth had no equal on the battlefield, but there was much more to life than swinging a sword. Genesis had considered himself Sephiroth’s equal from that first moment, when he saw that Sephiroth was just as human as himself.

That said, he had a great respect for Sephiroth. And over the brutal course of the Wutai War, they had become something almost like friends.

No—it was more than that. At first it had been little more than the low hum of desire Genesis generally felt for his more interesting friends, a low-key attraction that he would never act on, but couldn’t help noticing from time to time. He was, after all, a connoisseur of beauty.

But Sephiroth outclassed them all, with his power and strength, his icy indifference. Genesis couldn’t help but want to possess. He wanted to see ripples form on the still water’s surface, and dive to the depths beneath.

And when he finally did, it was just as satisfying as he had hoped.

They’d sneaked back into Shinra Tower in the very early morning, because of Sephiroth’s odd insistence on secrecy. But after Sephiroth left him at the doorway to his apartment, Genesis found himself too restless to settle in and sleep the rest of the morning away.

He only had to walk down a short hallway and turn to the left to knock on Angeal’s door before entering the code that would automatically let him in.

Angeal was on the kitchen floor doing pushups, as Genesis knew he would be, even though they were technically off duty for the week. He was a soldier all the way through and adhered to a rigid military schedule no matter what.

“Good morning Genesis,” he said, getting up. “You’re up early.”

Genesis grinned. “I had an interesting night.”

Angeal looked more like a man resigned to his fate than a friend eager to hear Genesis’s story, but it didn’t bother Genesis. It was just how Angeal was. Either way, he’d listen and act shocked at all the relevant places, because he really was the friend Genesis didn’t deserve.

“Let me take a shower,” Angeal said. “I’ll make breakfast and we can talk about it.”

While Angeal showered, Genesis peeled and sliced apples to bake with sugar and butter, which was about the only thing he could competently cook. Just as he was putting it in the oven, an exuberant knocking sounded at the door. Genesis sighed and opened it to see Zack, who bounded in like an overeager puppy without being invited. He had a small bouquet of white and yellow flowers in his hand, and he was flushed with excitement.

“Good morning, Zack,” Angeal said, emerging from his bedroom with his hair still wet, dressed in the SOLDIER uniform even though it was his day off. Zack was dressed similarly, and Genesis took a moment to mourn their lack of imagination.

“Flowers?” Genesis asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow. They were an expensive luxury here in Midgar, where nothing natural grew, and people generally only bought them as a declaration of affection. Genesis wondered if Zack was here to make such a play for Angeal, and held back an uncharitable snicker at the thought. He would never let his best friend date someone so…pedestrian.

“I met this girl who grows them under the plate,” Zack said, all in a single breath. “Her name is Aerith and she is beautiful like…um…like these flowers!” he finished, brandishing the bouquet, clearly proud of his metaphor.

Genesis gave him a dirty look. This morning was supposed to be about Genesis’s story, which, to be frank, was much more interesting.

“She sounds nice,” Angeal said calmly, pulling a carton of eggs out of the fridge. “How did you meet her?”

Zack scrubbed his hand over the back of his head sheepishly. “I, uh, I fell off the plate. Right into her church.”

“Fascinating,” Genesis muttered, earning a glare from Angeal.

“I think I’m gonna ask her to marry me,” Zack said. “I mean, not right away. But definitely someday.”

Genesis sprawled out on Angeal’s uncomfortable couch and took his copy of Loveless out of his pocket to read through while Zack went on and on about this girl and Angeal asked patient questions.

_Infinite in mystery is the gift of the Goddess_

_We seek it thus, and take to the sky_

_Ripples form on the water_ _’s surface_

_The wandering soul knows no rest_

He thought of Sephiroth, his eyes closed and mouth open in pleasure last night. His guarded, carefully indifferent gaze this morning, as they approached Shinra Tower. Infinite in mystery indeed.

“My night was much more interesting,” he said, when breakfast was served and they gathered around the table.

Angeal raised an eyebrow. “Finally got what you wanted, didn’t you?”

Genesis pouted. It would have been much more dramatic and satisfying if he had been able to tell it, but like always, Angeal read him too well. From the wry quirk to his mouth, it was clear Angeal knew it too.

“What did you want?” Zack asked, around a mouthful of eggs.

“I should invite Sephiroth to join us,” Angeal said mildly, pulling out his phone and typing a text. “We’re all here. I bet he’d like to come too.”

“Next time you’re under the plate, bring me back a bouquet of flowers,” Genesis said to Zack.

Zack nodded at him. “You got someone you’re courting, Rhapsodos?”

“I might,” Genesis said, with a sly grin that got much wider a few minutes later when Sephiroth stalked in, his long coat flaring behind him as he moved.

_He had a love bite on his neck._

Genesis didn’t think he’d ever been more pleased by anything in his life. Zack’s wide-eyed reaction was also quite satisfying, and it was entertaining to watch him scrambling around for something to say.

Sephiroth gave Genesis a nod that was as coolly indifferent as ever. When he came close, Genesis grabbed a handful of silver hair and gently tugged, and Sephiroth leaned down without protest so that Genesis could kiss him on the lips for longer than was polite, but he was proving a point.

“Good morning,” Sephiroth said, and for a moment those cat’s eyes only saw Genesis. And it was then, Zack’s shocked words in the distant background, that he realized just how much trouble he was in.

**Author's Note:**

> [Art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19810399/chapters/46905775#workskin)


End file.
